Try Me (Seven Tech Tower Book 1)

by Amanda Richensexi

  She lay across his legs, her thighs tense over his, the skirt pulled markedly down to her calves. This arched her back. He automatically began to reach for a cushion for her head, then reconsidered. Better to be quick and efficient or his skittish host would change her mind. Besides, he liked her arched like that. It looked wanton.

  “I’m not sure about this.”

  He stretched his neck. “No? Well, tell me when you get there. I have all the time in the world here.”

  She studied him, frowning.

  Making as though he couldn’t feel her soft thighs or the increasingly uncomfortable state of his cock, he examined the Clitesqua. It was easy to see how it operated. If it contained the same class of futuristic robotics ATJ was known for, it was a well-designed piece of equipment indeed. He undid the smoothly filed plastic latches, turned the power button on, and stuck his finger in the crevice. Nothing. But a light came on when he poked the tip of his pinky in. The coated metal started to move on it with an almost soundless whirring. He pressed the function button a few times, watching the tiny screen, smothered a smug grin, tapped it off and called it good.

  Idly he began rotating the loop of one of the straps around his thumb.

  She lay there, to all appearances still thinking.

  He yawned as if he had all the time in the world.

  Really, he was more on edge every minute. Through their clothes, her skin felt warm. The width of her hips was beyond voluptuous. He fought his impatience. He wanted to rip up the skirt and see what was under there. How plump was she? Did her thighs touch? Were her legs pale? Was she waxed, shaved, clipped…

  “Okay. I’ll try it. But just because I want to. Not because you want me to. I don’t get off on following orders or anything like that.”

  Oh, really? He wanted to laugh but only blinked. “Of course.”

  “So...what…”

  “Just relax. I’ll take care of everything.” With the utmost casualness, he unlaced her booties and tossed them away to reveal narrow, pretty feet and long, gracefully curved calves covered in thin white knee socks. From her stiffness, he gathered she wasn’t used to even this amount of intimacy with a man.

  He figured his lust was pretty openly on his face and tried to minimize it. He grasped a handful of skirt—the stuff was unbelievably puffy, crinkling all over the place—and raised it over her legs.

  Well.

  He was right about her lower body. Her thighs were creamy, generously padded and came together at the crotch. She was so lush, flaring out at the hip and narrowing down to her knees, the whole effect so inviting and pretty, that the breath froze in his lungs.

  She also wore waist-high cotton floral granny pants.

  The crotch of them was soaking.

  Well, dammit all to hell. His muscles were taut. His hands were fisted and his legs like a compressed spring. In another moment he’d be pouncing on her. He hadn’t had the urge to pounce on a woman, since...ever?

  “Looks like you’ll have plenty of lube to enable the stroking function,” he made himself say, all light and nonchalant. His eyes flicked to hers just in time to see her freaking the fuck out.

  Good not to pounce. Good not to shove her legs apart and bury tongue, fingers, and cock into that hot pussy that is guaranteed to be wet and tighter than fuck. Definitely good not to flip her over, part the globes of her ass, and….no. Don’t go there. Not today, anyway.

  But soon.

  Yeah. Soon.

  Meantime, she needed calming. “It’s convenient,” he said in a tone meant to both tease and reassure her.

  “This is ridiculous.”

  “Can you lower your panties for me?”

  “No.”

  “Then how would you like me to get the Clitesqua on you?”

  She let out a frustrated huff. She reached behind her neck, nabbed her braid, and began nibbling on the end. As nervous habits went, it was pretty darling.

  He waited.

  Finally she let go of her braid and grasped the waistband of the panties. With her eyes challenging him all the way, she lifted her hips and drew the fabric down.

  CHAPTER 5

  Wendy

  MUDDY MOLD ON A mudstick.

  This could not be happening.

  But it was, like an erotic nightmare full of scary, sexy aliens. She was lying here, practically a virgin sacrifice, with her skirt at her waist and her panties down to her knees. Conn Milidonis was watching her with those unemotional silver eyes, only the faint twitching of his lips now exposing his amusement.

  Was her pussy funny?

  Never mind. That was it. She was done. She’d bared herself to him, and he was acting like it wasn’t even a big deal. She was going to remove his bubble butt from her apartment yesterday.

  He must have read her intentions. Instantly his hands caught her knees and locked on them. “What’s the matter, Two Shoes?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Change your mind?”

  “About the test? For work?” Her words dripped sarcasm. “Yes, I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Call me crazy, but from this perspective, you don’t look like you have work on your mind.”

  “You know, you’re a real clayhead,” she shot back. “Let me go. You don’t hold people down.”

  “You don’t like it?” He released her, his eyes warming—damn him for looking at her with sympathy; finally she finds a guy who’s all protect the virgin and all she wanted was for him to ravage her.

  His voice grew soothing. “Sshh. Come on. You have to admit it’s peculiar...here you are, with that pussy looking like that, beautifully aroused, looking so...damn...strokable...and here I am, wanting nothing more than to lick your...ice cream...and yet all we can think about is work.”

  “Oh, god, oh, god,” she muttered. “Will you just get on with it then?” Before I scream for ice cream…

  “With pleasure. But I need you to lift your knee. There you go.”

  She watched him work, every movement he made making her nerves stretch more tautly. Conn was blatantly staring at her. The part of her that usually resided under her skirts was front and center from his point of view and it was a view he was enjoying, judging by the flare of his nostrils.

  Furthermore, his hands were not perfunctory. And unlike her other boyfriends whenever she wore clothes that revealed the outlines of her coxal and femoral regions, he didn’t look embarrassed or uneasy or start with the mermaid insults.

  If anything, she got the distinct sense that if she gave the word, he would start chewing on her flesh.

  The weirdness of having a man she barely knew attaching a sex toy under development to her thighs was...well, just that. Weird.

  Less weird than stimulating, however. He was obviously experienced. There was not a moment’s hesitation in what he did. He handled her as if he handled random women’s thighs on a daily basis. And by the time his hand reached in and tickled the soft curls above, she knew it was hopeless. She was dripping, swollen, and couldn’t seem to lie still.

  “This isn’t going to work,” she stated.

  “Not if you flinch like that,” he agreed. “Can you be still? This is slippery enough work as it is.”

  She growled.

  And then those angular features split in a grin, and she couldn’t look away. “Ah, Wendy LaBruce. You’re hilarious to tease,” he chuckled, and while he was still chuckling, she felt him curl a finger into the start of her slit and playfully swipe at her clit. She gasped. Her torso flooded with heat. Her entire lower region throbbed. Specifically her clitoris was one giant, painful ache. From that one tiny touch.

  “Oh, Wendy, I’m glad we’re doing this,” he said thickly. “You’re primed to test the Clitesqua right now. In the state you’re in, you’ll be able to figure out all the design flaws. I think you might even enjoy this.”

  She wasn’t processing. She couldn’t actually speak. She felt him part her lower lips and attach things to them, being very gentle. She watched him with a fuz
zy gaze. And she thought, virginity. Who wants it? This is the good stuff. This is what I’ve been waiting for.

  He was saying something about the textured coating on the Clitesqua, and she wanted to respond. She wanted to tell him the designers had taken their inspiration from ancient Native American ceramics, their ornamental surface textures serving a far more practical function of minimizing slippage and thus breakage of wet objects. Thus the technicians had come up with a material and a treatment that would increase friction on slippery, fragile surfaces without causing cellular damage to those surfaces. It was in her view brilliant work. But the words were locked in her throat.

  The thing was on her. She could feel it. Conn was moving back. He was staring piercingly into her eyes as he raised his hands to his mouth and licked his fingers, one by one.

  Cleaning himself of her juices.

  Watching him do that was...it was bad on her poor heart.

  Her legs felt like they were burning up all of a sudden. She jerked up to examine them.

  Oh, she realized dopily. He’d replaced her skirt. It was providing full, modest coverage once again. He’d even restored her underpants. She’d missed the whole thing.

  She was confused. Yes, Conn Milidonis was wildly, improbably attractive. Her body was understandably weak. But the one thing that had never failed her was her brain. Men had kissed her passionately. She’d been romanced. She’d felt tempted to go all the way once or twice. She was only mortal.

  But have a lust-induced case of brain-fry? If asked earlier, she’d have put the chances of its happening at slim to none. Yet pretty much all she could think about right now was 1) Conn and 2) The Clitesqua.

  It was him. He was at fault.

  He was the one. The good one.

  Things were looking promising.

  Yet instead of taking advantage of the situation, as she was half-hoping he would do, Conn got to his feet. His movements were stiff. She saw him adjust himself casually in his pants and moaned.

  Yes.

  She moaned.

  It was embarrassing. She had moaned in front of a man. Vividly imagining what was behind those expensive Italian wool slacks.

  She only hoped he hadn’t heard. He was striding toward the cabinets. But she suspected that this time he was noticing everything about her.

  “So,” he said over his shoulder, “how does it feel?”

  Like I need pressure between my legs or I’ll die. Like I’ll explode if you brush against me.

  Oh, right. He means the Clitesqua.

  “I don’t know, I can’t really feel it much.” Only then did she recall an alarming fact. “There might be a delay programmed in.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, but for how long is anybody’s guess.”

  He shrugged. “I’m sure we’ll find out. Ah, I like your taste in wine. Very nice. Let’s have a glass or two and relax, Wendy, shall we?”

  The suave, flirty attitude Conn Milidonis was displaying reminded her of when she’d seen him with the blonde. He was charming when he wanted to be. Maybe the blonde fell for that, but it only made her wary.

  She might be in her own home, but she was out of her element here. Her body was all jumpy and sweaty. She could feel the bands around her thighs and there was a foreign pressure in her nether regions.

  And he knew it. He’d installed the thing. It was hard to trust all the chivalry here—pulling out her chair, pouring her wine, making himself at home. As far as she was concerned, and him, too, she suspected, it was all about the Clitesqua now.

  “You’re not fooling me.” She sank into the sofa cushion, wine glass in hand.

  “Oh? What am I not fooling you about?” He poured the deep red Merlot into his own glass, then sat down facing her inches away.

  “You’re watching my every move, waiting to see if the toy will run its program.”

  Casually, he took out his phone and glanced at it. “Wrong. I know it’s going to run its program.”

  “Really? How?” Okay, forget letting her wine breathe. She needed gulps of it. Now. He watched her with amusement.

  “Because I set the run delay on it.”

  Abruptly the liquid spurted out of her mouth. “Pardon me, what?”

  “I set the delay. I know precisely when it will start.”

  “Oh, yeah? When?” She wiped her mouth with a napkin.

  “When it’s time.” He gave a small smile and swirled his glass at her.

  She almost smiled back. Mushy brain syndrome had struck again. She caught herself just in time.

  Work. Talk about work.

  “Draken says you’re working on publicity to do with the Robasm.” The giant sex toy fascinated her; it was her dream to contribute to the future iterations of the crown jewel of Almatto Tech Joy’s product line.

  “Mmm.” He tipped his head, which just made her focus on that gorgeous jaw. “Competitor sabotage is starting to impact sales. We’re seeing a wave of bogus complaints via social media. At first it seemed the usual assortment of objectors—you know, the prim, the proper, the prudes, moral objectors shocked by the idea of women using AI machines for their gratification. But it turns out they’re being manufactured.”

  “Manufactured. Oh, you mean fake reviews.” She didn’t say anything, but a glimmer of foreign sensation had just shimmered between her legs. Even though in the back of her mind she’d been ready for such an event, she couldn’t help blinking. Other than that, she kept calm, while silently giving herself a stern lecture. Use that famous control of yourself, Wendy. You can take on one small machine. Don’t you dare move a muscle. Not a muscle.

  “Yes,” he was saying, “and comments in places where sex toys are discussed online. It’s an organized, calculated attack. It’s not unusual in cases of new and innovative products, believe me.”

  “I never realized. And your role...” She would absolutely, positively not let herself be distracted by the—

  JOLT!

  Ho, boy, what the ever loving petunias was that? Her clit felt...it felt…not bad...not good...but oh, great freezer burn, it felt. What was going on down there?

  She tried to remember all the functions. Stroking...dabbing...twisting...that was it, it had to be twisting...or wait, maybe squeezing…

  What does it matter? It’s driving you crazy, that’s the main thing.

  Wendy, you dodo, that’s why it matters.

  And now he was looking at her.

  She stared back. He was probably expecting her to yell or faint or leap up with shock or something. And she would not. She wasn’t even going to tell him it had started. “Sorry—your role in the company is to…”

  “Fix it.” He gave her an easy smile. “I do what you might call covert public relations. I’m an independent consultant hired to—well, I like to call it ‘manage’ the social media events surrounding a marketing effort. Only the environment I work in tends to be hostile rather than friendly. Sometimes it requires an aggressive approach. In the case of Almatto Tech, I’m dealing with strategic acts meant to discredit ATJ as a whole.”

  “It’s an attack? But why?”

  “Oh, this sort of thing happens with companies with forward vision—they have an inbuilt frailty, not being established. Trust is a problem. It’s easy to shatter. The saboteurs are relying on that.”

  She nodded and subtly shifted at the same time, casually placing her hands on her thighs. She angled her legs to ease the pressure there. It came as a rude shock that rather than ease it, the move only enabled her to feel the firm tugging at her clit more acutely. Scratching scorpions! It was dirty and pleasurable and wrong to be just sitting here and be...manipulated. She looked at him stonily. “So...so, you’re basically saying you’re in reputation management?”

  “In a manner of speaking. As I said, I tend to take the bull by the horns.”

  She searched his eyes. Could he tell? Did he know? He wasn’t checking the time on his phone or anything. He was innocently sipping his wine. Maybe he didn’t know t
he program had started.

  “What, ah, does that mean in this context exactly, bull by the horns? Or is that proprietary?”

  “Mm,” he said noncommittally. “Most of my work involves using every means—orthodox or unorthodox—to stop the attacks. How is it working for you, Two Shoes?”

  He knew. She stilled. “It’s fine.”

  “You’re looking like you’re enjoying it so far.”

  His murmured words made heat flood her face. Odd, that she’d never guessed from looking at him that he was such a tease. She wasn’t used to teasing. Being ignored, yes. Looked at askance, sure. Direct teasing, which she could directly respond to, sadly, no.

  “What makes you say that.” Her flat tone was quelling.

  “Aside from all that squirming you’re doing? One clue is those soft little gasps you keep trying to cover up...I don’t usually see a woman doing that unless she’s having a pretty good time. Do you think you can have an orgasm right here?”

  “No,” she lied.

  “I see.” He deftly nabbed her wine glass and set both glasses down on the coffee table. He patted his lap. “Come here.”

  She stared blankly at him.

  “Hop onto my lap. Come on, Two Shoes.”

  “Why?”

  “So I can feel you up.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Utterly.”

  “Why?”

  “Why. Really? Because those rosebud lips of yours need kissing. You’re giving the upholstery such a good time, I figure it might as well be me feeling that ass grinding against me. That rear end you’ve got there,” he reached out to twirl the strand of her hair that had escaped from her braid around his finger, “has been driving me loony since you sashayed it by me out in the hall.” He brushed his lips against the corner of her mouth. “You’re a very responsive woman. I’m thinking we’ll test how wet you can get my pants. Purely for science, of course. Now enough silly questions. Upsy-daisy.”

  “Uh...no?”

  He groaned softly. “You’re saying no.”